The expression “seeing saw not, and hearing heard not” appears to suggest the contrast of presentation and objective perception.
{37} It may be asked, “Why should not a man form for himself a system which interprets his own perception, but is discrepant from the system of every one else? Should we in that case count him as awake?” Yes, he would be awake, but he would be mad. Suppose, being a common man, he interprets all his perceptions into a system which makes him out to be King of England; in such a case he cannot be set down as dreaming, because he is alleging a connection which goes beyond his present perception, and has, ostensibly, been propounded as an interpretation of it into a systematic order of things. He has in shortaworld, but he has broken away fromtheworld, and therefore we pronounce him mad. A completely new vision of life may cause a man to be thought mad. [1]
[1] See Browning’sEpistle of Karshish.
The whole world, then, of our waking [1] consciousness may be treated as a single connected predicate affirmed as an enlargement of present perception. All that we take to be real is by the mere fact of being so taken, brought within an affirmative judgment.
[1] I do not mean to say that judgment and consciousness of a world can be wholly absent in dreams, and often no doubt they are distinctly present. But in those dreams, in my own experience the normal ones, which leave behind a mere impression that unrecognisable images have passed before the mind, judgment and the sense of reality must surely have all but disappeared. I am inclined to think that dreams are very much rationalised in recollection and description.
Comparison with world as Will
5. To further illustrate the relation of what, in our permanent judgment, is distinctly thought, what is dimly thought, and what is implied, let us look for a moment at what we may call “the world as will.” This isnotthe doctrine of Schopenhauer in his work,The World as Will and Idea, {38} although the two conceptions have something in common. His is a metaphysical doctrine, in which he says that the fundamental reality of the Universe must be conceived as Will. We have nothing to do with that. We are speaking merely of what the world is for us, and for us it is not only a system of reality but a system of purposes. Our world of will is a permanent factor of our waking consciousness, just as much as our world of knowledge. Now our will is made up of a great number of purposes, more or less connected together, just as our knowledge is made up of a great number of provinces and regions more or less connected together. And just as in our knowledge at any moment much is clear, much is dim, much is implied, and the whole forms a continuous context, so it is with our purposes.
When, for example, one stands looking at a picture, one’s immediate conscious purpose is to study the picture. One also entertains dimly or by force of habit the purpose to remain standing, which is a curious though common instance of will. We do not attend to the purpose of walking or standing, yet we only walk or stand (in normal conditions of mind) as long as we will to do so. If we go to sleep or faint, we shall fall down. Purpose, like judgment, is confined to the waking consciousness.
But further; the purpose which one entertains in standing to look at a picture is not really an isolated pin-point of will. It is uppermost in the mind at the moment in which we carry it out, but it is only the uppermost stratum, or perhaps rather the present point attained upon a definite road, within an intricate formation or network of purposes, which taken together constitute the world of will. The purpose of looking {39} at a picture shades off into the more general purpose of learning to take pleasure in what is good of its kind, which is again set in a certain place within the conception of our life and the way in which we desire to spend it, and our purposes throughout every particular day are fitted into one another, and give a particular setting and colour to each other, and to each particular day, and week, and year.
Now less or more of all this may be clearly in the mind when we are carrying out a particular momentary aim. But it is quite certain that in a human life the particular momentary aim derives its significance from this background of other purposes; and, if they were to fall away, the distinct momentary purpose would change its character and become quite a feeble and empty thing.
Thus we have, in our world of will, a parallel case which illustrates the nature of our world of knowledge. There is the clear will to look at the picture, the dim will to continue standing, and the implied will to carry out certain general aims, and follow a certain routine or course of life, which gives the momentary purpose its entire setting and background.
I have spoken of the will in order to illustrate the judgment, because the dim and implied elements are perhaps more easy to observe in the case of the will. Almost all our common waking life is carried on by actions such as walking and sitting, which we hardly know that we will, but which we could not do if we did not will them. And also the greater part of our life is rather within a sphere of will which has become objective for us in our profession, interests, and ideals, than a perpetual active choice between {40} alternatives such as brings the act of volition before us in the most striking way. Just so it is with judgment. Our speaking and writing is a very small part of our judging, just as our conscious choice between alternatives [1] is a very small part of our willing.
[1] I do not for a moment suggest that our “conscious choice” is ultimately different in kind from our habitual persistence in a course of life. I only take it as an instance in which we fully attend to our volition.
Distribution of Attention
6. Thus the world of knowledge and the world of will must each of them be regarded as acontinuumfor the waking consciousness. Whenever we are awake, we are judging; whenever we are awake we are willing. The distribution of attention in these two worlds is very closely analogous. In both, it is impossible to attend to our whole world at the same moment. But in both, our world is taken as being a single connected system; and therefore (i.) attention shades off gradually from the momentary focus of illumination into less and less intensity over the other parts of the continuous judgment or purpose; but (ii.) that which isinthe focus of attention depends for its quality upon that which is less distinctly or not at all in the focus of attention. And as attention diminishes in intensity, the implication of reality does not diminish with it. In other words, in spite of the inequality of attention, the reality of our whole world is implied in the reality of which at any moment we are distinctly aware. But being distinctly aware of reality is another name for judgment.
Now the common logical judgments which we shall have to analyse and classify are simply those parts of this continuous affirmation of consciousness which are from time {41} to time separately made distinct. Each of them therefore must be regarded as a partial expression of the nature of reality, and the subject will always be Reality in one form, and the predicate reality in another form. The ultimate and complete judgment would be the whole of Reality predicated of itself. All our logical judgments are such portions and fragments of this judgment as we can grasp at the moment. Some of these gather up in a system whole provinces of reality, others merely enlarge, interpret, or analyse the content of a very simple sense-perception. We shall not go far wrong in practice if we start from this judgment of Perception as the fundamental kind of Judgment. The real subject in Judgment is always Reality in some particular datum or qualification, and the tendency of Judgment is always to be a definition of Reality. We see the parts of Judgment most clearly in such thoughts as “This is blue”; “This is a flower”; “That light is the rising sun”; “That sound is the surf on a sandy shore.” In these we can plainly distinguish the element of presentation and the interpretative construction or analytic synthesis which is by the judgment identified with it.
{42}
Meaning of “Form”
1. I spoke of the whole world, which we take to be real, as presented to us in the shape of a continuous judgment. It is the task of Logic to analyse the structure of this Judgment, the parts of which are Judgments.
The first thing is then to consider what sort of properties of Judgments we attend to in Logic. It is commonly said that Logic is a formal science; that is, that it deals with the form, and not with the content or matter of knowledge.
This word “form” is always meeting us in philosophy. “Species” is Latin for form, as εἶδος and ἰδεα [1] are Greek for form. The form of any object primarily means its appearance, that which the mind can carry away, while the object as a physical reality, as material, remains where it was. It need not mean shape as opposed to colour; that is a narrower usage. The Greek opinion was no doubt rooted in some such notion as that in knowing or remembering a thing the mind possessed its form or image without its matter. Thus the form came to stand for the knowable shape or structure which makes a thing what it is, and by which we recognise it when we see it. This was its species or its idea, the “image,” as it is used in the phrase, “Let us make man in our own image.” So in any work of the hands {43} of man, the form was the shape given by the workman, and came out of his mind, while the matter was the stuff or material out of which the thing was made.
[1] [= “eidos” and “idea”. Tr.]
The moment we contemplate a classification of the sciences, we see that this is a purely relative distinction. There is no matter without form. If it was in this deep sense without form, it would be without properties, and so incapable of acting or being acted upon. In a knife the matter is steel, the form is the shape of the blade. But the qualities of steel again depend, we must suppose, upon a certain character and arrangement in its particles, and this is, as Bacon would have called it, theformof steel. But taken as purely relative, the distinction is goodprima facie. Steel has its own form, but the knife has its form, and the matter steel can take many other forms besides that of a knife. Marble has its own form, its definable properties as marble (chemical and mechanical), but in a statue, marble is the matter, and the form is the shape given by the sculptor.
Now applying this distinction to knowledge in general, we see that all science is formal, and therefore it is no distinction to say that Logic is a formal science. Geometry is a formal science; even molecular physics is a formal science. All science is formal, because all science consists in tracing out the universal characteristics of things, the structure that makes them what they are.
The particular “form,” then, with which a science deals is simply the kind of properties that come under the point of view from which that science in particular looks at things. But a very general science is more emphatically formal than {44} a very special science. That is to say, it deals with properties which are presented in some degree by everything; and so in every object a great multitude of properties are disregarded by it, are treated by it as matter and not as form. In this sense Logic is emphatically “formal,” though not nearly so formal as it is often supposed to be. The subject-matter of Logic, then, is KnowledgequaKnowledge, or the form of knowledge; that is, the properties which are possessed by objects or ideasin so far as they are members of the world of knowledge. And it is quite essential to distinguish the form of knowledge in this sense from its matter or content. The “matter” of knowledge is the whole region of facts dealt with by science and perception. If Logic dealt with this in the way in which knowledge deals with it,i.e.simply as a process of acquiring and organising experience, then Logic would simply be another name for the whole range of science, history, and perception. Then there would be no distinction between logic and science or common sense, and in trying to ascertain, say, the wave-length of red light, or the cab-fare from Chelsea to Essex Hall, we should be investigating a logical problem. But we see at once that this is not what we mean by studying knowledge as knowledge. Science or common sense aims at a particular answer to each problem of this kind. Logic aims at understanding the type and principles both of the problem and of its answer. The details of the particular answer are the “matterof fact.” The type and principles which are found in all such particular answers may be regarded as the form of fact,i.e.that which makes the fact a fact in knowledge.
Jevons appears to me to make a terrible blunder at this {45} point. He says [1]—“One name which has been given to Logic, namely the Science of Sciences, very aptly describes the all-extensive power of logical principles. The cultivators of special branches of knowledge appear to have been fully aware of the allegiance they owe to the highest of the sciences, for they have usually given names implying this allegiance. The very name of Logic occurs as part of nearly all the names adopted for the sciences, which are often vulgarly called the ‘ologies,’ but are really the ‘logics,’ the ‘o’ being only a connecting vowel or part of the previous word. Thus geology is logic applied to explain the formation of the earth’s crust; biology is logic applied to the phenomena of life; psychology is logic applied to the nature of the mind; and the same is the case with physiology, entomology, zoology, teratology, morphology, anthropology, theology, ecclesiology, thalattology, and the rest. Each science is thus distinctly confessed to be a special logic. The name of Logic itself is derived from the common Greek word λόγος, which usually meansword, or the sign and outward manifestation of any inward thought. But the same word was also used to denote the inward thought or reasoning of which words are the expression, and it is thus probably that later Greek writers on reasoning were led to call their science ἐπιστήμη λογική, or logical science, also τέχνη λογική or logical art. [2] The adjective λογική, being used alone, soon came to be the name of the science, just as Mathematic, Rhetoric, and other names ending in ‘ic’ were originally adjectives, but have been converted into substantives.”
[1]Elementary Lessons, p. 6.
[2] [= “logos”, “episteme logike”, “techne logike” and “logike”. Tr.]
{46} This account of the connection between the name “Logic” and the terminations of the names of the sciences appears precisely wrong. Whatever may have been the exact meaning of the expression “Logic,” or “Logical curriculum,” [1] or “art,” or “science” when first employed, there can be no doubt that the word logical had a substantive reference to that about which the science or teaching in question was to treat. The term “logic,” therefore, corresponds not to the syllables “logy” in such a word as “Zoology,” but to the syllables “Zoo,” which indicate the province of the special science, and not its character as a science. Zoology means connected discourse (λόγος) about living creatures. Logic meant a curriculum, or science or art dealing with connected discourse. The phrase “Science of Sciences,” rightly interpreted, has the same meaning. It does not mean that Logic is a Science which comprises all the special sciences, but that Logic is a Science dealing with those general properties and relations which all sciencesquasciences have in common, but omitting, as from its point of view matter and not form, the particular details of content by which every science answers the particular questions which it asks. It is wild, and most mischievous, to say that “every science is a special logic,” or that “biology is Logic applied to the phenomena of life.” This confusion destroys the whole disinterestedness which is necessary to true scientific Logic, and causes the logical student always to have his eye on puzzles, and special methods, and interferences by which he may teach the student of science how to perform the concrete labour of research. We quite admit that {47} a looker-on maysometimessee more of the game, and no wise investigator would contemna priorithe suggestions of a student like Goethe, or Mill, or Lotze, because their author was not exclusively engaged in the observation of nature. But all this is secondary. The idea that Logic is a judge of scientific results, able to pass sentence, in virtue of some general criterion, upon their validity and invalidity, arises from a deep-lying misconception of the nature of truth which naturally allies itself with the above confusion between Logic and the special sciences.
[1] πραγμάτεια [= pragmateia Tr.]. See Prantl, i. 545.
Therefore the relation between content or matter of knowledge, and the form which is its general characteristic as knowledge, is of this kind. We can either study the objects of knowledge directly as we perceive them, or indirectly, as examples of the way in which we know. As studied for their own sake, they are regarded as the matter or content in which the general form of knowledge finds individual realisation. In botany, for instance, we have a large number of actual plants classified and explained in their relation to one another. A botanist is interested directly in the affinities and evolution of these plants, and in the principles of biology which underlie their history. He pushes his researches further and further into the individual matters that come to light, without, as a rule, more than a passing reflection upon the abstract nature of the methods which he is creating as his work proceeds. He classifies, explains, observes, experiments, theorises, generalises, to the best of his power, solely in order to grasp and render intelligible the region of concrete fact that lies before him. Now while his particular results and discoveries {48} constitute the “form” or knowable properties of the plant-worldas the object of botanical science, the science which inquires into the general nature of knowledge must treat these particular results as “mere matter”—as something with which it is not directly concerned, any more than the art which makes a statue is primarily and directly concerned with the chemical and mechanical properties of marble. The “form” or knowable properties with which the general science of knowledge is directly concerned, consists in those methods and processes which the man of science, developing the modes in which common sense naturally works, constructs unconsciously as he goes along. Thus, not the nature and affinities of the plant-world, but classification, explanation, observation, experiment, theory, are the phenomena in virtue of which the organised structure of botanical science participates in the form of knowledge, and its objects become, in these respects, objects of logical theory.
Hence some properties and relations of objects, being the form or knowable structure of the concrete objects as a special department of nature, correspond to the mere matter, stuff, or content of Knowledge in general, while other properties and relations of objects, being their form or knowable structure as entering into a world of reality displayed to our intelligence, correspond to the form of Knowledge as treated of by a general inquiry into its characteristics, which we call Logic. It is just as the qualities or “forms” of the different metals of which knives can be made are mere matter or irrelevant detail when we are discussing the general “form” or quality of a good knife, {49} whatever its material. A reservation on this head appears in the following section.
Form of Knowledge dependent on Content
2. For the form of Knowledge depends in some degree upon its matter. It is very important to realise this truth; for if Logic is swamped by being identified with the whole range of special sciences, it is killed by being emptied of all adaptation to living intelligence. What is called Formal Logicpar excellencein all its shapes, whether antiquated as in Hamilton’s or Thomson’s Formal Laws of Thought, or freshly worked out on a symbolic basis as by Boole and others, has, it appears to me, this initial defect,when considered as a general theory of Logic. As a contribution to such a theory, every method which will work undoubtedly has its place, and indicates and depends upon some characteristic of real thought. But in the central theory itself, and especially in so short an account of it as must be attempted in these lectures, I should be inclined to condemn all attempts to employ symbols for anything more than the most passing illustration of points in logical processes. All such attempts, I must maintain, share with the old-fashioned laws of Identity, Contradiction, and Excluded Middle the initial fallacy of representing a judgment by something which is not and cannot be in any way an adequate symbol of one. If, in order to get at the pure form of Knowledge, we restrict ourselves to very abstract characteristics in which all knowledge appears, very roughly speaking, to agree, and which can be symbolized for working purposes by combinations of signs which have not the essential properties of ideal contents, then we haveab initiosubstituted for the judgment something which is a very {50} abstract corollary from the nature of judgment, and may or not for certain purposes and within certain limits be a fair representative of it. We cannot and must not exclude from the form of Knowledge its modifications according to “matter,” and its nature as existing only in “matter.”
In fact, the peculiar “form” ofeverythingdepends in some degree on its “matter.” A statue in marble is a little differently treated if it is copied in bronze. A knife is properly made of steel; you can only make a bad one of iron, or copper, or flint, and you cannot make one at all of wax. Different matters will more or less take the same form, but only within certain limits. So it is in Knowledge. Thenature of objects as Knowledge—for wemustremember that “form” in our sense is not something put into the “matter,” something alien or indifferent to it, but is simply its own inmost character revealed by the structural relations in which it is found capable of standing [1]—depends on the way in which their parts are connected together.
[1] The example of the marble statue may seem to contradict this idea; and no doubt the indifference of matter to form is a question of degree. But the feeling for material is a most important element in fine art; and in knowledge there is only a relative distinction between formal and material relations.
Let us compare, for example, the use of number in understanding objects of different kinds.
Suppose there are four books in a heap on the table. This heap of books is the object. We desire to conceive it as a whole consisting of parts. In order to do so we simplycountthem “one, two, three,fourbooks.” If one is taken away, there is one less to count; if one is added, there is one more. But the books themselves, as books, are not {51} altered by taking away one from them or adding one to them. They are parts indifferent to each other, forming a heap which is sufficiently analysed or synthesised by counting its parts.
But now instead of four books in a heap, let us think of the four sides of a square. Of course wecancount them, as we counted the books; but we have not conceived the nature of the square by counting its sides. That does not distinguish it from four straight lines drawn anyhow in space. In order to appreciate what a square is, we must consider that the sides areequalstraight lines, put together in a particular way so as to make a figure with four right angles; we must distinguish it from a figure with four equal sides, but its angles not right angles, and from a four-sided figure with right angles, but with only its opposite sides equal; and note that if we shorten up one side into nothing, the square becomes a triangle, with altogether different properties from those of a square; if we put in another side it becomes a pentagon, and so on.
These two things, the heap of books and the square, areprima facieobjects of perception. We commonly speak of a diagram on a blackboard or in a book as “a square” if we have reason to take it as approximately exact, and as intended for a square. But on looking closer, we soon see that the “matter,” or individual attributes, of each of these objects of our apprehension demands a different form of knowledge from that necessary to the other. The judgment “Thisheap of books has four books in it” is a judgment of enumerative perception. The judgment “Thesquare has four sides” is a judgment of systematic necessity.
{52} Why did we not keep the two judgments in the same logical shape? Why did we say “Thisheap” and “Thesquare”? Why did we not say “this” in both propositions, or “the” in both propositions? Because the different “matter” demands this difference of form. Let us try. “The heap of books has four books in it.” Probably we interpret this proposition to mean just the same as if we had said “This heap.” That is owing to the fact that the judgment naturally occurs to us in its right form. But if we interpret “The heap” on the analogy of our interpretation of “The square,” our judgment will have become false.
It will have come to mean “Every heap of books has four books in it,” and a judgment of perception will not bear this enlargement. The subject is composite, and one, the most essential of its elements, is destroyed by the change from “this” to “the.”
Let us try again. Let us say “This square has four sides.” That is not exactly false, but it is ridiculous. Every square must have four sides, and by saying “this square” we strongly imply that foursidedness is a relation of which we are aware chiefly, if not exclusively, in the object attended to in the moment of judging, simply through the apprehension of that moment. By this implication the form of the judgment abandons and all but denies the character of systematic necessity which its content naturally demands. It is like saying, “It appears to me that in the present instance two and two make four.” The number of sides in a square, then, is not a mere fact of perception, while the number of books in a heap is such a fact.
But you may answer by suggesting the case that an {53} uninstructed person—say a child, with a square figure before him, and having heard the name square applied to figures generally resembling that figure, may simply observe the number of sides, without knowing any of the geometrical properties connected with it; will he not then be right in saying, “This square has four sides”?
Certainly not. In that case he has no right to call it a square. It would only be a name he had picked up without knowing what it meant. All he has the right to say would be, “This object” or “This figure has four sides.” That would be a consistent judgment of mere perception, true as far as it went. It is always possible to apprehend the more complex objects of knowledge in the simpler forms; but then they are not apprehended adequately, notascomplex objects. It is also possible to apply very complex forms of knowledge to very simple objects. Most truths that can be laid down quite in the abstract about a human mind could also be applied in some sense or other to any speck of protoplasm, or to any pebble on the seashore. And every simple form of knowledge is always being pushed on, by its own defects and inconsistencies, in the direction of more complex forms.
So far I have been trying to show that objects are capable of being different in their nature as knowledge as well as in their individual properties; and that their different natures as knowledge depend on the way in which their parts are connected together. We took two objects of knowledge, and found that the mode of connection between the parts required two quite different kinds of judgment to express them. Let us look at the reason of this.
{54}The relation of Part and Whole
3. The relation of Part and Whole is a form of the relation of Identity and Difference. Every Judgment expresses the unity of some parts in a whole, or of some differences in an Identity. This is the meaning of “construction” in knowledge. We saw that knowledge exists in judgment as a construction (taking this to include maintenance) of reality.
The expression whole and parts may be used in a strict or in a lax sense.
In a strict sense it means a whole of quantity, that is, a whole considered as made up by the addition of parts of the same kind, as a foot is made up of twelve inches. In this sense the whole is the sum of the parts. And even in this sense the whole is represented within every part by an identity of quality that runs through them all. Otherwise there would be nothing to earmark them as belonging to the particular whole or kind of whole in question. Parts of length make up a whole of length, parts of weight a whole of weight, parts of intensity a whole of intensity, in so far as a whole of intensity is quantitative, which is not a perfectly easy question. Wholes like these are “Sums” or “Totals”. The relation of whole to part in this sense is a very simple case of the relation of differences in an identity, but for that very reason is not the easiest case to appreciate. The relation is so simple that it is apt to pass unnoticed, and in dealing with numerical computation we are apt to forget that in application to any concrete problem the numbers must be numbers of something having a common quality, and that the nature of this something may affect the result as related to real fact, though not as a conclusion from pure {55} numerical premisses. In a whole of pure number the indifference of parts to whole reaches its maximum. The unit remains absolutely the same, into whatever total of addition it may enter.
In a whole of differentiated members, such as a square, all this begins to be different. A side in a square possesses, by the fact of being a side, very different relations and properties from those of a straight line conceived in isolation. In this case the whole is not made up merely by adding the parts together. It is a geometrical whole, and its parts are combined according to a special form of necessity which is rooted in the nature of space. Speaking generally, the point is that parts must occupy certain perfectly definite places as regards each other. You cannot make a square by merely adding three right angles to one, nor by taking a given straight line and adding three more equal straight lines to its length. You must construct in a definite way so as to fulfil definite conditions. The identity shows itself in the different elements which make it up, not as a mere repeated quality, but as a property of contributing, each part in a distinctive way, to the nature of the whole. Such an identity is not a mere total or sum, though I imagine that its relations can be fully expressed in terms of quantity, certain differentiated objects or conceptions being given (e.g.line and angle).
I take a further instance to put a sharp point upon this distinction. The relation of whole and parts is nowhere more perfect, short of a living mind, than in a work of art. There is a very fine Turner landscape now [1] in the “Old {56} Masters” Exhibition at Burlington House—the picture of the two bridges at Walton-on-Thames. The picture is full of detail—figures, animals, trees, and a curving river-bed. But I am told that if one attempts to cut out the smallest appreciable fragment of all this detail, one will find that it cannot be done without ruining the whole effect of the picture. That means that the individual totality is so welded together by the master’s selective composition, that, according to Aristotle’s definition of a true “whole,” if any part is modified or removed the total is entirely altered, “for that of which the presence or absence makes no difference is no true part of the whole.” [2]
[1] February 1892. [2]Poetics, 8
Of course, in saying that the part is thus essential to the whole, it is implied that the whole reacts upon and transfigures the part. It is in and by this transformation that its pervading identity makes itself felt throughout all the elements by which it is constituted. As the picture would be ruined if a little patch of colour were removed, so the little patch of colour might be such as to be devoid of all value if seen on a piece of paper by itself. I will give an extreme instance, almost amounting to atour de force, from the art of poetry, in illustration of this principle. We constantly hear and use in daily life the phrase, “It all comes to the same thing in the end.” Perhaps in the very commonest speech we use it less fully, omitting the word “thing”; but the sentence as written above is a perfectly familiar platitude, with no special import, nor grace of sound or rhythm. Now, in one of the closing stanzas of Browning’s poemAny Wife to Any Husband, this sentence, only modified {57} by the substitution of “at” for “in,” forms an entire line. [1] And I think it will generally be felt that there are few more stately and pathetic passages than this in modern poetry. Both the rhythm and sonorousness of the whole poem, and also its burden of ideal feeling, are communicated to the line in question by the context in which it is framed. Through the rhythm thus prescribed to it, and through the characteristic emotion which it contributes to reveal, the “whole” of the poem re-acts upon this part, and confers upon it a quality which, apart from such a setting, we should never have dreamed that it was capable of possessing.
[1] In order to remind the reader of the effect of this passage it is necessary to quote a few lines before and after—
“Re-issue words and looks from the old mint,Pass them afresh, no matter whose the print,Image and superscription once they bore!Re-coin thyself and give it them to spend,—It all comes to the same thing at the end,Since mine thou wast, mine art and mine shalt be,Faithful or faithless, sealing up the sumOr lavish of my treasure, thou must comeBack to the heart’s place here I keep for thee!”
We are not here concerned with the peculiar “aesthetic” nature of works of art, which makes them, although rational, nevertheless unique individuals. I only adduced the above examples to show, in unmistakable cases, what is actually meant when we speak of “a whole” as constituted by a pervading identity which exhibits itself in the congruous or co-operating nature of all the constituent parts. In wholes of a higher kind than the whole of mere quantity the parts no longer repeat each other. They are not merely distinct, {58} but different. Yet the common or continuous nature shows itself within each of them.
The parts of a sum-total, taking them for convenience of summation as equal parts, may be called units; [1] the parts of an abstract system, such as a geometrical figure, may be called elements (I cannot answer for mathematical usage), and the parts of a concrete system, an aesthetic product, a mind, or a society, might be called members.
[1] A unit of measurement implies in addition that it has been equated with some accepted standard. If I divide the length of my room into thirty equal parts, each part is a “unit” in the sum-total; but I have not measured the room till I have equated one such part with a known standard, and thus made it into a unit in the general system of length equations.
But every kind of whole is an identity, and its parts are always differences within it.
Nature of Knowledge
4. It will be well to sum up here what we have learnt of the nature of knowledge in general, before passing to the definition and classification of Judgment.
Knowledge is always Judgment. Judgment is constructive, for us, of the real world. Constructing the real world means interpreting or amplifying our present perception by what we are obliged to think, which we take as all belonging to a single system one with itself, and with what constrains us in sense-perception, and objective in the sense that its parts act on each other independently of our individual apprehension, and that we are obliged to think them thus. The process of construction is always that of exhibiting a whole in its parts,i.e.an identity in its differences; that is to say, it is always both analytic and synthetic. The objects of knowledge differ in the mode of relation between their {59} parts and the whole, and thus give rise to different types of judgment and inference; and this difference in the form of knowledge is a difference in the content of Logic, which deals with the objects of experience only from the point of view of their properties as objects in an intellectual world.
Conclusion
5. I hope that these general lectures, which, as I am quite aware, have anticipated the treatment of many difficult questions which they have not attempted to solve, have been successful in putting the problem of Logic before us with some degree of vividness. If this problem were thoroughly impressed upon our minds, I should say that we had already gained something definite from this course of study. The points which I desire to emphasise are two.
(1) I hope that we have learned to realise the world of our knowledge as a living growth, sustained by the energy of our intelligence; and to understand that we do not start with a ready-made world in common, but can only enter upon the inheritance of science and civilisation as the result of courage, labour, and reasonable perseverance; and further, that we retain this inheritance just as long as our endurance and capacity hold out, and no longer.
And (2) I have attempted to make clear that this living growth, our knowledge, is like the vegetable or animal world in being composed of infinite minor systems, each and all of which are at bottom the same function with corresponding parts or elements, modified by adaption to the environment. So that the task of analysing the form of judgment bears a certain resemblance to that of analysing the forms of plants. Just as from the single cell of the undifferentiated Alga, to {60} the most highly organised flower or tree, we have the same formation, with its characteristic functions and operations, so from the undifferentiated judgment, which in linguistic form resembles an ejaculation or interjection, to the reasonable systems of exact or philosophical science, we find the same systematic function with corresponding elements.
But the world of knowledge has a unity which the world of organic individuals cannot claim; and this whole system of functions is itself, for our intelligence, approximately a single function or system, corresponding in structure to each of its individual parts, as though the plant world or animal world were itself in turn a plant or animal. We cannot hope to exhaust the shapes taken by the pervading fundamental function of intelligence. We shall only attempt to understand the analogies and differences between some few of its leading types.
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Correspondence between types of Judgment and nature of objects as Knowledge
1. The question of correspondence between the types of Judgment and the orders of Knowledge was really anticipated in discussing the relation between the content and the form of knowledge. We saw that the content or matter and nature known determines on the whole the form or method of knowledge by which it can be known.
I give a few cases of this correspondence, not professing to complete the list. We should accustom ourselves to think of these forms as constituting a progression in the sense that each of them betrays a reference to an ideal of knowledge which in itself it is unable to fulfil, and therefore inevitably suggests some further or divergent form. And the defect by which the forms contradict the ideal, is felt by us as a defect in their grasp of reality, in their presentation of real connections.
“Impersonal” Judgment
a. We think of the judgment as predicating an ideal content of a subject indicated in present perception. But there are judgments which scarcely have an immediate subject at all, such as “How hot!” “Bad!” “It hurts!” In the judgments thus represented the true subject is some {62} undefined aspect of the given complex presentation. Of course the words which we use are not an absolutely safe guide to the judgment—they may be merely an abbreviation. But there are typical judgments of this kind in which we merely mean to connect some namable content with that which can only be defined as the focus of attention at the moment. Such judgments might be called predications of mere quality. The only link by which they bind their parts into a whole is a feeling referred to our momentary surroundings. Amerequality, if not defined or analysed, or a feeling of pleasure or pain, is the sort of object which can be expressed in such a judgment.
Perceptive Judgment
b. Then we have the very wide sphere of perceptive judgment, which we may most conveniently confine to judgments which have in the subject elements analogous to “This,” “Here,” “Now.” Such particles as these indicate an effort to distinguish elements within the complex presented. They have no content beyond the reference to presentation, and, in “here” and “now,” an implication that the present is taken in a particular kind ofcontinuum. Otherwise they mean nothing more or other than is meant by pointing with the finger. We may or may not help out a “subject” of this kind by definite ideas attached to it as conditions of the judgment. If we do, we are already on the road to a new form of knowledge, incompatible with the judgment of perception. For so long as we keep a demonstrative, spatial or temporal, reference in the thought, the subject of judgment is not cut loose from our personal focus of presentation. And as the existence of such a focus is undeniable, we are secure against criticism so far as the {63} content of the subject is concerned. But if we begin to specify it, we do so at our peril.
Such judgments as these have been called “Analytic judgments of sense.” [1] The term is not generally accepted in this meaning, but is conveniently illustrative of the nature of these judgments. It is intended to imply that they are a breaking up and reconstruction of what, in our usual loose way of talking, is said to be given in sense-perception. They remain on the whole within the complex of “that which” is presented.
[1] Mr. F.H. Bradley,Principles of Logic, p. 48.
From the point of view which we have taken, such judgments are not confined to what we think it worth while tosay, but are the essence of every orderly and objective perception of the world around us. In a waking human consciousness nothing is unaffirmed.
We have no other term than perception to express the process which is employed in scientific observation and experiment. But it is plain that so soon as the judgment that refers to “This” is modified through the inevitable demand for qualification by exact ideas—“Thishurts me,” “Whathurts you?” “This old sprain, at the pace we are walking”—a conflict of elements has arisen within the judgment. And as commonplace perception passes into scientific observation, the qualifying ideas, on which truth and relevancy depend, dwarf the importance of the “this,” and ultimately oust it altogether. That is a simple case in which the ideal of knowledge and the nature of reality operate within the judgment to split asunder its primitive form. The subject as expressed by a pure demonstrative refuses to {64} take account either of truth,i.e.consistency with knowledge as a whole, or of relevancy,i.e.consistency with the relation involved in the particular predication that may be in question. Our commonplace perception halts between these two extremes. It deals with the world of individual objects and persons, which, being already systematised according to our current observations and interests, has, so long as we keep to its order, a sufficient degree of truth and relevancy for the needs of daily life. Thus if I say, “This book will do as a desk to write upon,” the truth of the qualification “book” (i.e.the reality of the subject) is assumed on the ground of the facility of recognising a well-known “thing,” while the relevancy of the qualification “book” is not questioned, because we accept an individual thing as an object of habitual interestquaindividual, and do not demand that whenever it is named those properties alone should be indicated which are relevant to the purpose for which it is named. The “thing” is a current coin of popular thought, and makes common perception workable without straining after a special relevancy in the subject of every predication. Such special relevancy leads ultimately to the ideal ofdefinition, in which subject and predicate are adequate to each other and necessarily connected. A definitory judgment drops the demonstrative and relies on qualifying ideas alone. It is therefore an abstract universal Judgment, while the Judgment of Perception, so long as it retains the demonstrative, is a Singular Judgment.
Proper names in Judgment
c. But a very curious example of a divergence or half-way house in Knowledge is that form of the singular Judgment in which the subject is a proper name. A proper name is {65} designative and not definitory. It may be described as a generalised demonstrative pronoun—a demonstrative pronoun which has the same particular reference in the mouth of every one who uses, it, and beyond the given present of time.
So the reference of a proper name is a good example of what we called a universal or an identity. That which is referred to by such a name is a person or thing whose existence is extended in time and its parts bound together by some continuous quality—anindividualperson or thing and the whole of this individuality is referred to in whatever is affirmed about it. Thus the reference of such a name is universal, not as including more than one individual, but as including in the identity of the individual numberless differences—the acts, events, and relations that make up its history and situation.
What kinds of things are called by Proper Names, and why? This question is akin to the doctrine of Connotation and Denotation, which will be discussed in the next lecture. It is a very good problem to think over beforehand, noting especially the limiting cases, in which either somepeoplegive proper names to things to which other people do not give them, or somethingsare given proper names while other things of the same general kind are not. These judgments, which are both Singular and Universal, may perhaps be called for distinction’s sake “Individual” Judgments.
Abstract Judgment
d. The demonstrative perception may also be replaced by a more or less complete analysis or definition.
Within this province Definition of a concrete whole is one extreme,e.g. “Human Society is a system of wills”; {66} that of an abstract whole the other extreme, “12 = 7 + 5.” There are all degrees, between these two, in the amount of modification which the parts undergo by belonging to the whole. There are also all sorts of incomplete definitions, expressing merely the effects of single conditions out of those which go to make up a whole. These form the abstract universal judgments of the exact sciences, such as, “If water is heated to 212° Fahr. under one atmosphere it boils.” In all these cases some idea, “abstract” as being cut loose from the focus of present perception, whether abstract or concrete in its content, replaces the demonstrative of the judgment which is a perception. These are the judgments which in the ordinary logical classification rank as universal.
The general definition of Judgment
2. It was quite right of us to consider some types of judgment before trying to define it generally. It is hopeless to understand a definition unless the object to be defined is tolerably familiar. We have said a great deal about knowledge and about judgment as the organ or medium of knowledge. Now we want to study particular judgments in their parts and working, and observe how they perform their function of constructing reality.
Now, for our purpose, we may take the clearest cases of judgment, viz. the meanings of propositions.
The distinctive character of Judgment as contrasted with every other act of mind is that it claims to be true,i.e.pre-supposes the distinction between truth and falsity.
First, we have to consider what is implied in claiming truth.
Secondly, by what means truth is claimed in Judgment.
{67} Thirdly, the nature of the ideas for which alone truth can be claimed.
What is implied in claiming truth
(i.) Claiming truth implies the distinction between truth and falsity. I do not say, “between truth and falsehood,” because falsehood includes a lie, and a lie is notprima facie, an error or falsity of knowledge. It is, as may be said of a question, altogether addressed to another person, and has no existence as a distinct species within knowledge. Thus a lie is called by Plato “falsehood in words”; the term “falsehood in the mind” he reserves for ignorance or error, which he treats as the worst of the two, which from an intellectual point of view it plainly is.
No distinction between truth and falsity can exist unless, in the act or state which claims truth, there is a reference to something outside psychical occurrence in the course of ideas. Falsity or error are relations that imply existences which, having reality of one kind, claim in addition to this another kind of reality which they have not. In fact, all things that are called false, are called so because they claim a place or property which they do not possess. They must exist, in order to be false. It is in the non-fulfilment, by their existence, of some claim or pretension which it suggests, that falsity consists. And so it is in the fulfilment of such a claim that truth has a meaning. A false coin exists as a piece of metal; it is false because it pretends to a place in the monetary system which its properties or history [1] contradict.
[1] For it is, I suppose, technically false, even if over value, if not coined by those who have the exclusive legal right to coin.
As the claim to be true is made by every judgment in its {68} form, there can be no judgment without some recognition of a difference between psychical occurrences and the system of reality. That is to say, there is no judgment unless the judging mind is more or less aware that it is possible to have an idea which is not in accordance with reality.
Thus,ifan animal has no real world distinct from his train of mental images, if, that is, and just because, these are his world directly, and without discord, he cannot judge. The question is,e.g.when he seems disappointed, whether the pleasant image [1] simply disappears and a less pleasant image takes its place, or whether the erroneous image was distinguished as an element in “a mere idea,” which could be retained and compared with the systematised perceptions which force it out,asan idea with reality.
[1] It will be observed that we are not treating the mental images as being taken for such by the primitive mind. It is just in as far as they arenotyettaken for suchthat theyare merely such. Mr. James says that the first sensation is for the child the universe (PsychologyII. 7). But it is a universe in which all is equally mere fact, and there is no distinction of truth and falsehood, or reality and unreality. That can only come when an existent is found to be a fraud.
We must all of us have seen a dog show signs of pleasure when he notices preparations for a walk, and then express the extreme of unhappiness when the walk is not taken at all, or he is left at home. People interpret these phenomena very carelessly. They say “he thought that he was going to be taken out.” If he did “think that, etc,” then he made a judgment. This would imply that he distinguishes between the images suggested to his mind, and the reality of their content as the future event of going out, and knew that he might have the one without the other following. But of {69} course it is quite possible that the dog has no distinct expectation of something different from his present images, but merely derives pleasure from them, which he expresses, and suffers and expresses pain when they are replaced by something else. It is here, no doubt, in the conflict of suggestion and perception, that judgment originates.
On the other hand, animals, especially domestic animals, do seem to use the imperative, which perhaps implies that they know what they want, and have it definitely contrasted with their present ideas as something to be realised.
However this may be, the claim of truth marks the minimum of Judgment. There can be no judgment until we distinguish psychical fact from the reference to Reality. A mere mental fact as such is not true or false. In other words, there is no judgment unless there is something that, formally speaking, is capable of being denied. When your dog sees you go to the front door, he may have an image of hunting a rabbit suggested to his mind, but so far there is nothing that can be denied. If he has the image, of course he has. There is nothing that can be denied until the meaning of this image is treated as a further fact beyond the image itself, in a system independent of the momentary consciousness in his mind.Thenit is possible to say, “No, the fact does not correspond to your idea,”i.e.what we are ultimately obliged to think as a system is inconsistent with the idea as you affirmed it of the same system.
By what means the claim to truth is made
(ii.) The first thing then in Judgment is that we must have a world of reality distinguished from the course of our ideas. Thereupon the claim to truth is actually made by attaching the meaning of an idea to some point in the real {70} world. This can only be done where an identity is recognised between reality and our meaning.
Thus (keeping to the Judgment of Perception) I say, “This table is made of oak.” This table is given in perception already qualified by numberless judgments; it is a point in the continuous system or tissue which we take as reality. Among its qualities it has a certain grain and colour in the wood. I know the colour and grain of oak-wood, and if they are the same as those of the table, then the meaning or content “made of oak” coalesces with this point in reality, and instead of merely saying, “This table is made of wood that has such and such a grain and colour,” I am able to say “This table is made of oak-wood.”
This example shows the true distinction between the Logical Subject and Predicate. The fact is, that the ultimate subject in Judgment is always Reality. Of course the logical subject may be quite different from the grammatical subject. Some kinds of words cannot in strict grammar be made subjects of a sentence, though they can represent a logical subject quite well:e.g.“Nowis the time.” “Hereis the right place_.” Adverbs, I suppose, cannot be grammatical subjects. But in these sentences they stand for the logical subjects, certain points in the perceptive series.
The true logical subject then is always reality, however much disguised by qualifications or conditions. The logical predicate is always the meaning of an idea; and the claim to be true consists in the affirmation of the meaning as belonging to the tissue of reality at the point indicated by the subject. The connection is always made by identity of {71} content at the point where the idea joins the reality, so thatthe judgment always appears as a revelation of something which is in reality. It simply develops, accents, or gives accuracy to a recognised quality of the real. This is easily seen in cases of simple quality—e.g.“This colour is sky-blue.” The colour is given, and the judgment merely identifies it with sky-blue, and so reveals another element belonging to its identity, the element of being seen in the sky on a clear day.
The analysis is not quite so easy when there is a concrete subject like a person; for how can there be an identity between a person and a fact? “A.B. passed me in the street this afternoon.” Between what elements is the identity in this case? It is between him, as an individual whom I know by sight in other places, and him as he appeared this afternoon in particular surroundings. His identity already extends through a great many different particulars of time and place, and this judgment merely recognises one more particular as included in the same continuous history. “He in this context belongs to him in a former context.” In this simple case the operative identity is probably that of my friend’s personal appearance; but the judgment is not merely about that but about his whole personality, of which his personal appearance is merely taken as a sign.
Any assertion which is incredible because the identical quality is wanting will illustrate the required structure. There is a story commented on by Thackeray in one of his occasional papers, which implied that the Duke of Wellington took home note-paper from a club to which he did not {72} belong. (Thackeray gives the true explanation of the fact on which the suggestion was founded.) The identity concerned in this case would be that of character. Can we find an identity between the character involved in a piece of meanness like that suggested and the character of the Duke of Wellington? No; andprima facietherefore the judgment is false. The identity which should bind it together breaks it in two. But yet, again: supposing the external evidence to be strong enough, we may have to accept a fact which conflicts with a man’s character as we conceive it. That is so: in such a case one kind of identity appears to contradict the other. I may think that I saw a man with my own eyes, doing something which wholly contradicts his character as I judge it. Then there is a conflict between identity in personal appearance and identity in character, and we have to criticise the two estimates of identity—i.e.to refer them both to our general system of knowledge, and to accept the connection which can be best adapted to that system.
We have got, then, as the active elements in Judgment a Subject inReality, the meaning of an idea, and an identity between them.
Is this enough? Have we the peculiar act of affirmation wherever we have these conditions?
This is not the question by what elements of language the judgment is rendered. We shall speak of that in the next lecture. The question is now, simply, “Is a significant idea, referred to reality, always an assertion?”
The first answer seems to be that such an idea is alwaysinan assertion, but need not constitute the whole of an {73} assertion. If we think of a subject in judgment which is represented by a relative sentence, it seems clear that any idea which can stand a predicate can also form a part of a subject. “The exhibition which it is proposed to hold at Chicago in 1893”—has in effect just the same elements of meaning, and just the same reference to a point in our world of reality as if the sentence ran, “It is proposed to hold an exhibition at Chicago in 1893.” In common parlance we should say, that in the former case we entertain an idea—or conceive or represent it—while in the latter case we affirm it.
But if we go on to say that the former kind of sentence as truly represents the nature of thought as the latter, then it seems that we are mistaken. Even language does not admit such a clause to the rank of an independent sentence.
If we insist on considering it in its isolation, we probably eke it out in thought by an unarticulated affirmation such as that which constitutes an impersonal judgment; in other words, we affirm it to belong to reality under some condition which remains unspecified. Thus the linguistic form of the relative clause, as also the separate existence of the spoken or written word, produces an illusion which has governed the greater part of logical theory so far as concerns the separation between concept and judgment,i.e.between entertaining ideas and affirming them in reality. In our waking life, all thought is judgment, every idea is referred to reality, and in being so referred, is ultimately affirmed of reality. The separation of elements in the texture of Judgment into Subjects and Predicates which, as separated, are conceived aspossibleSubjects and Predicates, is therefore {74} theoretical and ideal, an analysis of a living tissue, not an enumeration of loose bricks out of which something is about to be built up.
The kind of ideas which can claim truth
(iii.) “Idea” has two principal meanings.
(a) A psychical presentation and
(b) An identical reference.
This distinction is the same as that between our course of ideas and our world of knowledge. We must try now to define it more accurately.
(a) An idea as a psychical presentation is strictly a particular. Every moment of consciousness is full of a given complex of presentation which passes away and can never be repeated without some difference. For this purpose a representation is just the same as a presentation; is, in fact, a presentation. Its detail at any given moment is filled in by the influence of the moment, and it can never occur again with precisely the same elements of detail as before. If we use the term “idea” in this sense, as a momentary particular mental state, it is nonsense to speak of having the same idea twice, or of referring it to a reality other than our mental life. The idea in this sense is a psychical image. We cannot illustrate this usage by any recognisable part of our mental furniture, for every such part which can be described and indicated by a general name, is something more than a psychical image. We can only say that that which at any moment we have in consciousness, when our waking perception encounters reality, is such an idea, and so too is the image supplied by memory, when considered simply as a datum, a fact, in our mental history.
(b) To get at the other sense of “idea” we should think {75} of the meaning of a word; a very simple case is that of a proper name. What is the meaning of “St. Paul’s Cathedral in London”? No two people who have seen it have carried away precisely the same image of it in their minds, nor does memory, when it represents the Cathedral to each of them, supply the same image in every detail and association twice over to the same person, nor do we for a moment think that such an imageisthe Cathedral. [1] Yet we neither doubt that the namemeanssomething, and that the same to all those who employ it, nor that it means the same to each of them at one time that it did at every other time. The psychical images which formed the first vision of it are dead and gone for ever, and so, after every occasion on which it has been remembered, are those in which that memory was evoked. The essence of the idea does not lie in the peculiarities of any one of their varying presentations, but in the identical reference that runs through them all, and to which they all serve as material, and the content of this referenceisthe object of our thought.
[1] When we are actually looking at the Cathedral, we say, “That isthe Cathedral.” Does not this mean that we take our momentary image, to which we point, to be the reality of the Cathedral? Not precisely so. It is the “that,” not our definite predication about it, which makes us so confident. The “that” is identified by our judgment, but goes beyond it.
In order to distinguish and employ this reference it is necessary that there should be a symbol for it, and so long as it brings us to the object which is the centre of the entire system, this symbol may vary within considerable limits.
The commonest and most secure means of reference is {76} the word or name. [1] So confident are we in the “conventional” or artificially adapted character of this mark or sign of reference, that we are inclined to treat it as absolutely unvarying on every occasion of utterance. But of course it is not unvarying. It differs in sound every time it is spoken, and in context and appearance every time we see it in a written shape. Our reliance upon it as identical throughout depends on the fact that it has a recognisable character to which its variations are irrelevant, and which practically crushes out these variations from our attention. Unless we are on the look-out for mispronunciations or misprints, they do not interfere at all with our attention to the main reference of words. We know that it is almost impossible to detect misprints so long as one reads a book with attention to its meaning. This then is a fair parallel to the distinction which we are considering between two kinds of ideas. If the momentary sound or look of a word is analogous to idea as psychical presentation, “the word” as a permanent possession of our knowledge is analogous to the idea as a reference to an object in our systematic world, and is the normal instrument of such a reference.
[1] “A name is a sound which has significance according to convention,”i.e.according to rational agreement.—Ar. de Interp. 16a 19.
But either with the word or without it there may be a symbol of another kind. Any psychical image that falls within certain limits may appear as the momentary vehicle of the constant reference to an object. Just as in recognising the reference of a word we omit to notice the accent and loudness with which it is pronounced, or the quality of the paper on which it is printed, just so in recognising the {77} reference of a psychical image our attention fails to note its momentary context, colouring, and detail. If it includes something that definitely belongs to a systematic object in our world of objects, that is enough, unless counteracted by cross references, to effect the suggestion we require, and that, and nothing else, arrests our attention for the moment. When I think of St. Paul’s Cathedral, it may be the west front, or the dome seen from the outside, or the gallery seen from the inside, that happens to occur to my mind; and further, that which does occur to me occurs in a particular form or colouring, dictated by the condition of my memory and attention at the moment. But these peculiarities are dwarfed by the meaning, and unless I consider them for psychological purposes, I do not know that they are there. It is the typical element only, the element which points to the common reference in which my interest centres, that forms the content of the idea in this sense, taken not as a transient feature of the mental complex, but as definitely suggesting a constant object in our constructed world. And it suggests this object because it, the typical element, is a common point that links together the various cases and the various presentations in which the object is given to us. In this sense it is a universal or an identity.
How can this conception of a logical idea be applied to a perfectly simple presentation? It would be impossible so to apply it, but there does not seem to be such a thing as a simple presentation in the sense of a presentation that has no connection as a universal with anything else. In the image of a particular blue colour, we cannot indeed separate out what makes it blue from what makes it the particular {78} shade of blue that it is. But nevertheless its blueness makes it a symbol to us of blue in general, and when so thought of, crushes out of sight all the visible peculiarities that attend every spatial surface. We understand perfectly well that the colour is blue, and that in saying this we have gone beyond the limits of the momentary image, and have referred something in it as a universal quality to our world of objects. An idea, in this sense, is both less and more than a psychical image. It contains less, but stands for more. It includes only what is central and characteristic in the detail of each mental presentation, and therefore omits much. But it is not taken as a mental presentation at all, but as a content belonging to a systematic world of objects independent of my thought, and therefore stands for something which is not mere psychical image.
If therefore we are asked to display it as an image, as something fixed in a permanent outline, however pale or meagre, we cannot do so. It is not an abstract image, but a concrete habit or tendency. It can only be displayed in the judgment, that is, in a concrete case of reference to reality. Apart from this, it is a mere abstraction of analysis, a tendency to operate in a certain way upon certain psychical presentations. Psychically speaking, it is when realised in judgment a process more or less systematic, extending through time, and dealing with momentary presentations as its material. In other words, we may describe it as a selective rule, shown by its workings but not consciously before the mind—for if it were, it would no longer be an idea, but an idea of an idea.
Every judgment, whether made with language or without, {79} is an instance of such an idea, which may be called a symbolic idea as distinct from a psychical image; “symbolic” because the mental units or images involved are not as such taken as the whole of the object for which they stand, but are in a secondary sense, as the word in a primary sense, symbols or vehicles only.
Such ideas can have truth claimed for them, because they have a reference beyond their mental existence. They point to an object in a system of permanent objects, and that to which they point may or may not suit the relation which they claim for it. Therefore the judgment can only be made by help of symbolic ideas. Mere mental facts, occurrences in my mental history, taken as such, cannot enter into judgment. When we judge about them, as in the last sentence, they are not themselves subject or predicate, but are referred to, like any other facts, by help of a selective process dealing with our current mental images of them. We shall not be far wrong then, if in every judgment, under whatever disguises it may assume, we look for elements analogous to those which are manifest in the simple perceptive judgment, “This is green,” or “That is a horse.” The relation between these and more elaborate forms of affirmation, such as the abstract judgment of science, has partly been indicated in the earlier portion of this lecture. The general definition of judgment has therefore been sufficiently suggested on p. 72. Judgment is the reference of a significant idea to a subject in reality, by means of an identity of content between them.
{80}
Judgment translated into language.
1. Judgment expressed in words is a Proposition.MustJudgment be expressed in words? We have assumed that this need not be so. Mill [1] says of Inference that “it is an operation which usually takes place by means of words, and in complicated cases can take place in no other way.” The same is true of Judgment.
[1]Logicvol. I. c. i., init.
We may say in general that words are not needed, when thinking about objects by help of pictorial images will do the work demanded of the mind,i.e.when perfectly individualised connections in space and time are in question. Mr. Stout [1] gives chess-playing as an example. With the board before him, even an ordinary player does not need words to describe to himself the move which he is about to make.